


Noble Hearts

by Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar



Category: Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Illness, Modern AU, ophelia and hamlet are the rich kids of instagram, sad college kids, uhhhhh, very very mild drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-06 07:04:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11595411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar/pseuds/Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar
Summary: Oneshots from the gang’s time at Wittenberg. Hamlet is a sad boy. Horatio is his rock and the poor friend of the group. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are usually hanging around in their apartment despite not living there. Ophelia is tired of them all but sticks around.





	1. The Fair Ophelia! -- Nymph

**Author's Note:**

> lol shakespeare's ghost is gonna come to me and be like "bitch why"

“But I don’t want to go to a party,” Hamlet had whined. “There’ll be people there, and what if I get drunk? What if I puke on someone? Everyone will be saying ‘I saw the crown prince of Denmark puking at a party at school.’ I don’t want people to say that.”

Horatio had rolled his eyes and threw a shirt at him. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern stood in the doorway of Hamlet’s room, having been ready for an hour and getting impatient.

“Don’t get drunk, and you’ll be fine. Put that shirt on. It goes nice with those trousers.”

“But what if they see me, and people start saying I do nothing but party at school.”

“You’ve never partied once in your life. What kind of evidence can they have against you?”

Hamlet threw his hands in the hair. “I don’t know!”

“You’re getting hysterical, love. Calm down.”

The conversation was hours ago, and Hamlet thought about the pure betrayal by his friends. They dragged him to a party, and then left him alone to fend for himself while they found drinks. He looked around the room of drunk students, dancing to the too-loud music and pressing their bodies against one another. He wanted to leave and go to bed and not talk to anyone the whole weekend while he recovered.

After a minute of solitude, Hamlet felt sweat trickling down his neck and collecting under his shirt. He wrinkled his nose and started sliding in between students to get to the door. People bumped against him, spreading their own sweat and alcohol on him. With every liquid Hamlet felt on him, he grew more and more repulsed and spiteful.

The fresh air felt amazing against his face. It was still fairly cold, but it did wonders to cool him down. There were few people in the back garden. Hamlet assumed they also wanted some space after being trapped in a house for so long. They were quiet, and Hamlet appreciated their apparent soberness. It was a nice change. Maybe he could guilt Horatio into staying outside with him for the rest of the night once they found each other.

A small group of students stood huddled together in front of a poorly-kept vegetable patch. Hamlet didn’t pay much attention to them as they broke up and went on their separate ways. Most of them walked past him, anyways, and back into the house.

He looked up at the sky to admire the stars. He thought that their beauty was fair competition against Horatio, but they still didn’t win his favor. They stood out phenomenally against the night sky and inspired inner peace in him, calming the stormy feelings that easily flared up. The sight of them was almost equal to Horatio’s touch. They lacked the warmth and safety Hamlet felt under Horatio’s hands during their tamest moments. Horatio knew Hamlet better than the stars despite the stars having the advantage of having seen him his whole life.

He caught himself smiling and, with mild embarrassment, turned away from the sky before anyone saw his silly grin.

That was when he noticed the girl staring at him. She held a fistful of flowers plucked from some new addition to the garden and smiled at him. He watched her approach him, her bare feet treading lightly and carefully on the grass. Her hair–coily and long and puffing out in a natural style beyond her shoulders–was decorated with more flowers stuck in at random spots.

“You look like you could use some of these,” she said.

She pulled a few flowers from her mediocre bouquet and held them out to Hamlet. He smiled and took them.

“Thank you,” he said.

“They’re pansies. They’re for your thoughts. They’re very good for that.”

She wore a shapeless, floral dress that would have been more appropriate to wear fifty years ago. But it fit the flower theme she had chosen for the night. Hamlet was sure that if her eyes were not such a dark brown and if the lighting was better, he would see that her pupils would be noticeably dilated.

“Do you think I need more thoughts?” Hamlet asked.

“I saw you looking at the stars.” She turned her head up to face the sky. “And people look at stars when they think. Like they’re listening to them.”

They were both quiet. She kept staring at the sky with a look of intense awe. Hamlet wondered where her friends had went and if he should try helping her find them.

“And they sound so beautiful tonight,” she whispered. “No wonder you were smiling at them like that… This is their most beautiful song yet. It’s a shame that we can’t record it or write it down. The gods get angry at us when we try that. The star’s songs aren’t meant to be preserved. Their fleeting beauty is what makes them so special. And that’s why humans are so sad sometimes, I think. We only have memories of stars for most of the day. We have to wait on them, and they’re too divine to be bothered to be concerned for our nightly habits. It’s our fault, you know. They present themselves to us. But we sleep during their brightest moments, and then we mourn when they leave us and take their music away.”

Hamlet nodded. He enjoyed the poetry, but he would chalk his own personal sadness up to chemical imbalances.

The girl looked back to him. “And you’re very beautiful, too. Your face is very soft. What name belongs to it?”

Hamlet laughed. “Are you asking my name? I’m Hamlet.”

He held out a hand to offer a handshake. Her eyes widened.

“Your Highness!”

She dropped to her knees and bowed her head. Hamlet looked around, startled and hoping no one was staring. Everyone else, thankfully, was preoccupied with their own conversations.

“Forgive me! I didn’t recognize you.”

“It’s alright,” Hamlet said.

He bent down and took her arm, guiding her back to feet. Her mouth was slightly agape, and she leaned in to examine his face.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Ophelia.”

“Ophelia,” he repeated. “That’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“You can call me Hamlet.”

“But you’re my prince.”

While being a prince  _was_ a common advantage–especially when he didn’t want to live in a dorm room with strangers when everyone else was forced to by either financial reasons or university rules–he was eager to get her away from formalities. Whatever kind of high she was on, he didn’t want it to turn for the worse with nerves from meeting him.

“But we’re not in Denmark,” he said. “And I insist my peers call me by my name.”

Ophelia nodded. “Oh, I’m sure! You want to be treated the same.”

“Right. So, call me Hamlet.”

“I will… Hamlet.”

She laughed, raising a hand to her mouth and squeezing her eyes shut. It was contagious, and Hamlet laughed with her even if it was out of sheer awkwardness. She had a nice air to her. He assumed she was not normally so eccentric, but she was very kind and gentle in a way he was sure was always there.  

Hamlet didn’t like to think he knew people after brief encounters. There had been many times classmates tried getting close to him only to reveal that they were interested only in his royal status. It was mainly a problem his first year and the students in his year had become more respectful since. But he still kept his guard up around anyone who recognized him–which, fortunately, was not as often as he initially feared. Being in a different country gave him a little anonymity (though, ever since word came out that he was going to Wittenberg, there was an influx of Danish applicants). Ophelia was different from the others. She seemed open. Maybe it was because she was so high, and he knew that a drunk mind spoke a sober heart. There was no way she could be wearing a mask over her drug-induced haze.

“Hamlet?”  

He turned around. Horatio walked towards the pair, two bottles of beer in his hands.

“Meet my new friend,” Hamlet said. “Her name is Ophelia. She gave me these.”

He showed Horatio the pansies. Horatio smiled and eyed Ophelia. She smiled back and looked at the rest of her flowers.

“Let’s see… I don’t have anything for you,” she said. “None of these are right. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for the thought,” Horatio said.

“This is Horatio. He’s my best friend,” Hamlet said.

Horatio handed him a beer and took Ophelia’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, clumsily shaking it..

“Your face is soft, too. But yours glows. It’s very… vibrant. Your whole body is.”

Horatio looked to Hamlet. Hamlet shrugged.

“Maybe we should find her friends,” he said.

“Why? Do you want to leave?” Horatio asked.

“Can we?”

Horatio put his hand on Hamlet’s shoulder. It was the most physical affection they could have in public. They didn’t want to risk anyone finding out that they were a couple and media forcing Hamlet out of the closet to his country.

“Who are you here with?” Horatio asked Ophelia.

“My friends,” she said.

“What do they look like?”

“Beautiful and bright.”

“Alright.”

Hamlet took a sip of beer. He knew finding her friends wouldn’t be easy. That is, if she even had friends there and they weren’t a figment of her imagination.

“Let’s go in and find them,” Horatio said. He put his arm around Ophelia and lead her back inside. “What did you take, love?”

“Acid.”

“Will you be alright?”

“I’m wonderful.”

Hamlet trailed behind them. Ophelia went on another poetic speech, but it was too loud for Hamlet to hear. It was as though even more people showed up in the short amount of time he was outside. Horatio nodded along to what she said and guided her around the room. Hamlet wondered what tripping on acid would feel like for him. He hoped it would be pleasant. He didn’t want to think of himself as someone who had bad trips.

After a few minutes, Ophelia gasped.

“There they are!”

She turned around and hugged Horatio, catching him off guard. He hugged her back with one arm. Hamlet was expecting the hug, but her small body was more forceful than what was reasonable for her size. He stumbled back and spilled a decent amount of his beer on the floor and the legs of others who didn’t really care.

“Thank you!” she shouted.

“You’re welcome,” Hamlet shouted back.

Ophelia ran off to a small group of girls. She hugged them as well and started decorating their hair with the now-crumpled flowers.

Horatio took Hamlet’s hand and pulled him through the crowd. Hand-holding was necessary while in large crowds. Hamlet was not a tall boy–he stood only to Horatio’s nose–and could easily be lost, according to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. They always feared that one day they would turn around and Hamlet would be gone. The fear was probably mostly caused by Hamlet’s parents relying on them to keep him safe. Once they started school, they also became amateur spies for the monarch.

They made it back outside, and Hamlet felt the same relief from the cool air. He laid his nearly-empty bottle on top of the railings on the porch. It wasn’t worth finishing if there was only a few swallows left. It wasn’t even good.

“Rude,” Horatio said.

“They’ll have to clean up anyways. What’s one more bottle?”

Horatio took his arm. The muffled music faded as they walked further down the street, and they were left in absolute peace.

Hamlet turned his face to the stars.

“Why are smiling like that, love?”

Ophelia’s stars still couldn’t compare to Horatio. While the stars left every night, Horatio would always be next to Hamlet in the morning. Maybe humans did take them for granted and missed them every day, but not every human had a Horatio.

“I’m just listening.”

* * *

The day was off to a bad start for no apparent reason. Nothing bad in particular had happened, but Hamlet still felt like the day was determined to make him miserable. Every little thing was setting him on edge, and he wanted his last class to come and go so he could sleep. Or try to. Sleep didn’t come easy despite his constant exhaustion.

Horatio had a special name for those type of days. He called them “black days” and did his best to try helping Hamlet through them with little disaster.

“How was that party this weekend?”

Hamlet looked at his phone and scowled at the conversation between the girls in front of him in line.

“I was so high,” one of them whispered. “I’ll tell you everything later, but it was an awesome trip. I thought I met the prince of Denmark.”

Hamet looked up.

“I feel bad for whoever it really was,” the girl went on. “You should have been there. It was wild.”

He could only see the back of the girl’s head. Her hair was in a large, neat bun on the top of her head, and she wore jeans with a bright pink sweater. Hamlet tried imagining her with her hair down and in a dress.

He rose to his toes and peered over heads to look at Horatio behind the counter. He was too busy taking coffee orders to notice Hamlet in line.

The girls continued to talk, and Hamlet was positive that Ophelia was one of them. He recognized the voice. It  _had_ to be her.

Once they were at the front of the line, Horatio smiled at Hamlet, exaggeratingly wrinkling his nose and eyes as the girls looked up at the menu and started deciding on their orders. When they reached in their purses for their wallets, Hamlet stepped up.

“I’ll take care of them,” he said.

Ophelia looked over and up at Hamlet. She gasped and stepped back into her friend.

Hamlet was relieved it was actually her. Now that he could see her face, he totally recognized her. She had the big, round eyes and round jaw. He pulled out his card and handed it to Horatio.

“So kind, Your Highness,” Horatio said.

“Oh my God,” Ophelia said.

“I have to repay her for the flowers she gave me over the weekend.”

“Oh my God,” Ophelia groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“Oh!” Horatio said, setting the drinks on the counter. “We met you at a party, didn’t we? You’re the flower girl?”

Ophelia’s friend seemed to be stuck between shock and laughter.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Ophelia said. “I made an idiot of myself this weekend.”

“I told you to call me Hamlet.” He grabbed their coffee and handed it to them. “Ophelia, right?”

She nodded and sheepishly took her coffee. Her friend took hers as well.

“I’m Jade,” she said.

Ophelia glared at her, her shoulders slumping. Jade mouthed, “What?” with a little shake of her head.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Hamlet said.

Ophelia turned around and pushed her friend away. Hamlet fought a smile as he heard a quiet, hissed, “I was  _actually_ high in front of the prince of my country. I’m going to jail. My father’s going to be disgraced.”

Horatio smirked. “That was nice of you.”

Hamlet shrugged. “She gave me flowers. I can buy her coffee.”

“Hopefully this is a blooming friendship. Do you want your usual?”

Horatio turned to his cash register as Hamlet hummed in confirmation.

He glanced at the girls again. Ophelia rested her head on her friend’s shoulder, a look of mortification plastered on her face. Hopefully, she wouldn’t stay embarrassed for too long. And hopefully her father–whoever he was–wouldn’t be disgraced. He was probably somewhere high up in the government.

“How’s your day been?” Horatio asked.

“Terrible. Absolutely terrible.”


	2. To Thine Ownself Be True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i found something to do with polonius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up some stuff about Danish politics. I gave the monarch more power than what they actually do. 
> 
> Also (and this isn't made up): red block=left wing; blue block=right wing; there hasn't been a majority government in Denmark in a while because no party ever gets enough seats and they can never partner up enough to make a majority out of coalition. But in this fic Polonius makes a majority government with other parties bc he Sucks and wants power like all conservatives. 
> 
> Sorry to Denmark.

“Horatio, my ice cream is melting.”

“What do you want me to do about it? Eat it faster.”

Hamlet leaned into Horatio’s side, finding a comfortable spot against the bony shoulder. He really should have found some exciting interest in the news, but it mostly made him nervous. The only thing that was cheering him up was the ice cream Rosencrantz and Guildenstern brought, but he even had to set that aside on the coffee table when his stress ate away at his appetite. 

“I don’t want to talk about this in classes tomorrow,” he said. 

“Your  _ classes _ ?” Rosencrantz asked, mouth full of ice cream. “I’d think you’d be afraid of talking to your father.”

“I’m don’t want to talk to him, either. I don’t want to talk to anyone about politics.”

“You should have thought about that before you became prince,” Guildenstern said. 

Horatio ran his fingers through Hamlet’s hair. Horatio was his only sympathetic ear during the elections. He understood that Hamlet was anxious and felt ill thinking about the wrong people ending up in parliament. It was hard being a prince. He had to talk to these people, and he had to meet with the prime minister all the time, and he was really worried about that. He begged his father to listen to what he had to say. But as usual, his father calmly told him to not worry and to trust him. 

“I’d be more afraid talking to Ophelia,” Horatio said. 

“ _ God _ , I’m afraid of how this is going to play out for her,” Rosencrantz said. 

Hamlet watched the journalist announce another seat won for the Red-Green Alliance. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. The party wasn’t  _ bad _ , and he didn’t mind them getting another seat. He only worried about the Social Democrats (or the red bloc in general) ending up with less seats than they currently had. Or, more importantly, the Venstre Party gaining too many seats, and Polonius being a leader of a significant chunk of Parliament.

“It’ll be fine,” Guildenstern said. “Her father’s party isn’t moving from their rank. There’s no way. I was just talking to my mom about this.”

There was something a little off about Polonius. Hamlet couldn’t quite place what it was. Ophelia was a great friend, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her that her father seemed just a tad crazy. His own father didn’t even like hearing Hamlet claim that Polonius was unfit for politics.

“What’s with the face?” Horatio asked, poking Hamlet in the cheek. 

“I don’t like this reporter.”

“Why?”

“She says mean things about me when I’m not there to defend myself.”

“Like what?”

“She said that I was rude for talking to my mother during some press conference. Who gets called rude for talking to their mother? I don’t have to listen to my father when he addresses reporters. I know what he says. I sit in at meetings.”

“Eat your ice cream, love.”

“She’s also called me fat.”

“No, she hasn’t.”

“Okay she hasn’t… but I bet she would. A lot of people do.”

Horatio wrapped his arm around Hamlet. Guildenstern laughed. 

“Including me,” he said. 

“Aww… leave him alone,” Rosencrantz said. “Hamlet, we love you--.”

“ _ Fuck! _ ”

Hamlet sat up. The Venstre Party had eight more seats added to their colorful bar at the bottom of the screen. They replaced the Danish People’s Party and slid up to the second rank. 

“They just replaced the far-right,” Horatio said. “What’s wrong with that?”

“They have more seats,” Hamlet said. “We don’t want any conservative party getting more seats.”

“Social Democrats still have the most,” Rosencrantz said. “Red bloc is doing fine right now.”

“They’re going to fall behind. Venstre’s never done this well before. They never get so many seats.”

“You know, I hate to say this, but Polonius  _ did  _ do a good job at all those debates. God knows how. He’s usually a rambling idiot. He must have really struck a chord with everyone.”

Rosencrantz sounded slightly somber. It worried Hamlet even more. Rosencrantz was hardly ever serious, and Hamlet depended on that. 

They looked at each other. Rosencrantz’s eyebrows were lifted in some emotion Hamlet didn’t know. Whatever it was -- sorrow, worry, sympathy -- it had never been on his face before. Hamlet only knew his awkward laughs and forced smiles when times were hard. 

“Venstre’s turned out a lot of prime ministers,” Hamlet mumbled. 

“You don’t really think Polonius of all people is going to be prime minister, do you?” Rosencrantz asked. 

“I don’t know. My dad kinda likes him. There’s something about him that makes him so likeable, and I don’t get it.”

“He’s smart. My mom told me that he’s been to  _ very  _ elite schools.”

“He’s been under the public’s radar this whole time.”

“That’s what makes him so loveable. No one knew him, but then he popped up out of nowhere and had all these credentials. And we’re probably bias. We know him as Ophelia’s father.”

“I guess he’s impressive, but… It’s like no one has heard him talk before! It’s like he’s delivering some monologue every time he opens his mouth. He doesn’t need to talk so much.”

“He doesn’t even say much. He just makes it sound like he thought about everything way beforehand.”

“And somehow Ophelia came from him.”

“Shut up,” Horatio hissed. “Social Democrats got three more seats.”

“Thank god.”

Hamlet relaxed back into the couch. Horatio’s hand rested on his leg, his thumb stroking his thigh. 

The reporter was talking again, telling everyone how close the blue bloc was to catching up to the red bloc. It was infuriating. Hamlet’s skin crawled as he thought about the conservatives getting the majority of the seats once they all grouped together. He didn’t want to imagine who he’d get stuck with in council meetings once his father “listened to the people” and chose some old, saggy-skinned, grey-haired right winger as prime minister. It would probably be Polonius, too, if his party stayed the second largest.

As much as Hamlet adored Ophelia, he was incredibly unnerved by her family. Polonius wasn’t even the worst. He had met her brother, Laertes, earlier that semester when he visited her on campus. He struck Hamlet as a bully and possessive. There was only so much Hamlet could stand of him before he excused himself back to his room to work on homework. The last thing Laertes said to him was to stay away from Ophelia, for she deserved someone else’s better love. 

Hamlet would have loved to have pointed to his boyfriend at that moment, but Horatio was working. He settled for walking away after kissing Ophelia on the cheek. 

“More results are coming in,” the reporter said. “The Venstre Party has gained 7 seats, leaving them only 12 seats behind the Social Democrats Party. Here to discuss the sudden, unexpected popularity of the liberal-conservative party are two analysts--”

“Are you  _ fucking  _ kidding me?” Guildenstern whispered. 

The camera zoomed out to reveal two men in suits sitting with the reporter at a glass table. 

Hamlet’s phone vibrated against the coffee table. 

“ _ Shit.” _

He grabbed it and answered, running from the room and to the front door. 

“Hi, dad.”

“Are you watching the election, kiddo?” 

His father’s voice on the other end was loud as usual. There was some sort of background noise, and Hamlet imagined his parents were in a room full of other politicians.

He sighed. “Yeah.”

He stepped outside, the cold air hitting his cheeks and stiffening his lungs. 

“Polonius could take the lead tonight.”

“Could he? Really? The polls said that the Social Democrats were going to have the most seats and they would push the red bloc into the majority.”

“The polls aren’t always right. You know that.”

“But they can’t be  _ this  _ wrong.”

“We’re just going to have to wait and watch.”

Hamlet wrapped his free arm around himself and shifted from foot to foot. He could see his breath frost over in front of him. It floated over his head until it faded right before hitting the landing above.

“And we’re going to get a new prime minister tonight, you know that,” his dad said. 

Hamlet closed his eyes. “Yeah…”

“And if the blue bloc pulls ahead, I think I’m going to appoint Polonius.”

“But  _ why _ ? He’s not good enough to be prime minister.”

“Hamlet, that’s your personal judgement. If he’s leading the most popular bloc, then that’s what the people want. And we have to--”

“Listen to the people and serve them. I know. But it’s also my professional judgement that he’s senile.”

“He is not senile. He’s barely older than your mother and I, so watch what you say.”

“But you’re both  _ so  _ good looking and sharp for your ages.”

“If you weren’t the heir, I’d suggest you become a comedian.”

“Thank you.”

“Hamlet, Polonius is qualified for the job. Besides, Claudius has worked with him before, and they think highly of each other.”

“Wait. Uncle Claudius gets a say in this? But I don’t?”

“He doesn’t get a say. He’s just passing along advice, and I’m listening to all the advice I get.”

“Can I give you my advice?”

His father sighed. “What is it?”

“Just think about it a little more before you actually decide tonight? Please? Polonius may be leading the right wing, but that doesn’t mean he can run a country with us. Popularity doesn’t mean capability.”

“Alright. For your sake, I’ll take some more time.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re the one that’s going to see the new PM in council meetings, anyways.”

“But being the crown prince is only a summer job. Unless the new PM decides I have to prioritize politics over school.”

His father laughed. “Go back to watching the results. Don’t stay up if they go on too late. You have classes tomorrow.”

“I won’t.”

“Goodnight, kiddo.”

“Goodnight.”

His father was totally not going to take his advice to heart as much as Hamlet wanted him to. He trudged back inside, looking at his friends still crowded around the television. 

“Who was that?” Horatio asked. 

“My dad.”

“Did he tell you anything top secret?” Guildenstern asked. 

“No. He just called to ask if I was watching.”

He walked past the sitting room and towards the hall. He feared watching the rest of the election would make him ill now that he knew Polonius was almost definitely going to be prime minister. And partially thanks to Claudius. Hamlet had a deep, bad feeling about their partnership, but his father would never listen to a gut feeling.

“Where are you going, love?” 

“I’m not feeling well. I’m going to lay down.”

“Do you want us to leave?” Rosencrantz asked. 

“No! Stay. It’s alright. I might come back out. I just…”

He didn’t bother finishing his sentence before disappearing behind his bedroom door. They were all used to his habits and mood swings by that point. They shouldn’t have been bothered.   


* * *

 

An hour passed with Hamlet occasionally hearing commentary outside his room. It was muffled and the words were lost, but Hamlet could hear the tones of the three boys. 

He checked his phone every so often when he got a text from a friend from home, asking if he saw the recent jump in seats. Every time he looked up the results, he felt nauseous and regretted it and returned to his book. 

Elections had never affected him so much before. There was never a political party he feared would get undeserved power, and he never worried that his father’s decision would be so aggravating. He tried telling himself that he should put his trust in his people like his father told him to. He wanted to be the prince his father wanted him to be: calm, loyal, and conscious to his country’s needs. But it was borderline impossible when all he wanted to do was call his father and beg him like a child to not appoint Polonius.

Maybe he was just too young. Maybe once he aged out of college, he would understand that instincts weren’t always meant to be listened to. He might value logic a bit more and find unwavering confidence in statistics. If the citizens were favoring a man, then he would find it easier to accept despite his own opinions. Maybe he would learn to cast his own opinions aside, too. 

He really wanted to stay a child forever and let his father reign for decades longer. 

“Hamlet?” 

There were light knocks on the door. 

“Are you awake?”

“Yes,” he called, sitting up and leaning against the headboard of his bed. 

Rosencrantz stepped in, trying his best to smile despite the obvious hesitance in his eyes. Hamlet set his book aside and tried to brace himself for bad news. 

“The last of the results came in,” Rosencrantz said.

His voice was too quiet. Hamlet didn’t even know it was possible for him to be so quiet. Ever since their childhood, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had been loud and rambunctious. They were constantly being put in opposite corners of classrooms and scolded by their parents for running around. Hamlet loved that about them. He was always the quiet child, forced to be polite from birth to avoid any diplomatic hiccups. They helped him learn to find some of his childhood freedom while they never grew out of theirs. 

“I don’t think I want to know,” Hamlet laughed. 

He looked at his lap, pressing his lips together. Maybe he could get one more decent night’s sleep if he just ignored it all. 

He felt fingers trail through his hair. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. 

Rosencrantz was surprisingly more gentle than Horatio. He knew where Hamlet’s hair would knot up and avoided the areas before his fingers came even close. It was a touch Hamlet hadn’t felt for years.

It was as though they were fifteen again, spending the summer afternoons in the courtyard of the palace. Hamlet would lay with his head in Rosencrantz lap, reading poetry and novels out loud as flowers were placed in his hair that was lightening significantly from the sun. Rosencrantz’s freckles came out that year as well. They were always there, against his pale skin like someone had flicked orange paint at him. But after only a month, they spread across his nose and cheeks to under his long hair that hung in his face for a couple years. 

The freckles that Hamlet had once kissed were still there, faded only slightly under adult eyes staring at him with concern. 

“Venstre has the most seats,” Rosencrantz said. “And they’re forming a coalition with the Danish People’s Party.”

“The Danish People’s Party?”

Rosencrantz nodded. 

“Why them? They’re awful people. They’re bigoted swine.”

“I don’t know. Polonius just announced that he’s had this deal with them. It’s not official… yet. But it will be by tomorrow, I’m sure.”

“That absolute jerk! Those people voted for his party, not the Danish People’s. He should have… Who would have thought that he wanted a coalition with them? They don’t agree. That swine!” Hamlet shouted.

He jumped to his feet. Rosencrantz wasn’t startled in the slightest. 

“That absolutely, miserable, no-good, ass-kissing  _ swine! _ He shouldn’t get to partner with a party he openly disagreed with! He went out there and said to the other leader’s face that he doesn’t agree with his policies. But he’s been buddies with him this whole time? How many seats does that give them? Who else are they adding to this? They’re going to go for a majority government for fuck’s sake. I know it. No one’s going to be able to stop their legislation from being passed. There’s not going to be enough people outside their coalition.”

Hamlet struggled to catch his breath. Rosencrantz rose. For once, he was the calm one.

He wrapped his arms around Hamlet and pulled him into a hug. Hamlet laid his head down on his shoulder. 

“And he’s going to end up being prime minister,” Hamlet said, voice not strong enough to be above a whisper. 

“You’ll figure something out.”

But Hamlet didn’t know where to begin untangling it all. He could call his father again and try to change his mind, but it would still leave the conservatives in power in parliament. There was a chance the partnership would be broken before they made it official. If they couldn’t reach any agreements, they would be forced to go their separate ways. Hamlet could hold on to a little sliver of hope that their secret affair would be broken up. Maybe he could deal with Polonius better if he knew that Polonius didn’t control most of the parliament. 

Hamlet’s stomach churned. He didn’t want the right wing to have absolute power. Not with how they all campaigned that season. They all pushed for anti-immigration laws and spewed racist rhetorics. Polonius was the only one who kept the middle ground, but it was all starting to unravel as a lie. And Hamlet  _ knew _ Polonius couldn’t have been trusted. 

What would happen to his Denmark? His family had preached tolerance and acceptance for years, and their country was built on those morals. Hamlet’s Denmark was a welcoming place for so many people. It wasn’t perfect, but he was proud of it. And what would happen with Polonius in power? Would he keep betraying everyone beyond what the monarch could fix? 

Hamlet pulled away from Rosencrantz, feeling shaky and sweaty. 

“Are you okay?”

It felt like his dinner had solidified in his stomach. He was afraid of moving, but he was also unsure if he could continue standing. He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head, unable to get out an audible “no.”

Rosencrantz took him by the elbow and started leading him out of the room. As bile began to raise in Hamlet’s throat, he pulled away and ran for the bathroom. 

He fell to his knees in front of the toilet with the force of a guilty sinner seeing Christ. His entire body convulsed as he heaved, totally out of his control. 

“Jesus.” 

Rosencrantz knelt next to him. He grabbed his hair and swept it back off his forehead and began rubbing his back. His hands felt so nice. They were delicate, as usual, and were supportive. 

“Is he okay?” Horatio called through the closed door. 

“I got him!” Rosencrantz called back. 

Hamlet felt guilty thinking that he didn’t want Horatio there at that moment. Horatio didn’t always understand the stress of politics. 

Another retch moved through his body, and vomit spilled out of his mouth with a moan. 

“You’re okay,” Rosencrantz whispered. “It’s all okay.”

Hamlet’s head felt detached from his body. It was like it was floating a foot above, looking down at the stomach acid and food sitting in toilet. Nothing felt real to him. Not physically. If he reached out to touch the toilet paper Rosencrantz was handing to him, it would probably disintegrate. He took it anyways. He figured his mouth and nose was probably a mess. 

The door opened, and he heard Horatio talking. 

“Is he okay?” he heard asked again. Maybe the repetition was a hallucination. 

“He got a little overwhelmed.” Or maybe not. 

Horatio stepped in, and Hamlet looked up at him. Having to look up made his head feel a little closer to himself. 

“Come on, you. Let’s get to bed.”

Horatio bent down, and Hamlet was being lifted. He instinctively put his arms around Horatio’s neck as he was carried out and to their bedroom. 

His jeans were tugged off and he was put under the blankets, and he wasn’t really positive how it was all happening. 

Horatio’s hands were in his hair like they could pull his bad thoughts out or like they could put his head back where it belonged. A glass was raised to his lips, and a fizzy soda tickled his nose and washed away the burning of acid in his throat.

“We’re going to head out,” Guildenstern said. “Do you need anything before we go?”

“No,” Horatio replied. “I think he’s okay now. I got him from here.”

Horatio kept working at his hair and cheekbones and temples until Hamlet came back to himself, and he was sure Horatio was solid in front of him. 

“How pissed would Ophelia be if she found out?” he mumbled. 

“That you puked after her dad won the most seats in Parliament? I’m sure our Ophelia would be understanding.” 

Horatio kissed his forehead. “Get some sleep. God know you’re in for a hell of a day tomorrow.”

Hamlet closed his eyes. His body, for once, was too exhausted to let his mind keep him up. It wasn’t a restful sleep. But it was sleep. 


End file.
